Gemotions

He’d always been a charmer, a smooth talker. John had always known how to get what he wanted. He stood across the office, watching the congratulatory handshakes and back-slaps, his stomach churning.

His hands were fists in his pockets, nails digging into his palms. He could feel the pulse hammering in his temples, a frantic drumbeat against his skull.

He forced a smile as his boss clapped him on the shoulder, offering hollow words of praise. His voice sounded strained, unnatural, even to his own ears. He kept picturing John’s smirk.

The fluorescent lights above felt like they were shrinking the room, closing in on him. He felt trapped, suffocated. He muttered an excuse and headed to the men's room, needing a place to simply *be*.